Passion's Hope (The Doms of Passion Lake Book 3) (6 page)

The breath whooshed from his lungs.
Jesus, damn! She’s gorgeous! Flawless complexion, thick black hair, full, kissable lips—

He didn’t know how long they stood, staring at each other. He did know his heart stopped beating several times and his lungs stopped working. Several times. Her skin couldn’t possibly be as smooth as it looked—like whipped cream, making him long to reach out and touch it to see for himself, first with his fingertips, then with his lips. She was a big girl, at least six feet tall, with voluptuous breasts and curvy hips and ass. A wave of lust swept over him, slamming him against hidden rocks and ripping the breath from his lungs.
Christ! What is the matter with me?

He’d never felt anything like this before. This…this…instant connection that felt like an instant hit from some powerful narcotic. While Jay tried to catch his breath, the entire rest of the room seemed to recede, leaving the two of them alone, at opposite ends of a bright tunnel of light that seemed to pulsate with an electrical current that zapped him right in the heart.

She appeared to be alone, most unusual in a BDSM club, even dangerous in some of the less savory ones, where unattached, submissive women were considered fair game by predatory Doms trolling for a partner for the night. She wasn’t wearing a collar, so, was she a submissive? Or was she a Domme? He frowned. Difficult to tell from her clothes. She was wearing a red PVC skirt that skimmed her ass and ended at the tops of her thighs. Her black, sleeveless, ribbed-knit top barely contained her generous breasts. Her hard nipples practically poked holes through the fabric, and were so large they made Jay’s mouth water at the thought of pulling them into his mouth and suckling them.

Holy fuck!

But it was her height that was the most striking thing about her. At least six feet tall. And it wasn’t illusory height either, the kind created by stilettos with those clunky three-inch platform soles and six-inch, needle-like heels. Her shoes were black ballet flats. She was also generously curvy, with voluptuous breasts, a rounded ass, and long, shapely legs that seemed to reach to her shoulders. Her thick black hair hung halfway down her back in a straight, glossy curtain from a central part behind straight, even bangs. Her large, expressive, cognac-colored eyes were heavily outlined with kohl and accentuated with smoky gray eye shadow, making her appear mystical, almost otherworldly. Shiny, bright red lips matched her skirt. And when her tongue came out to lick them, Jay’s heart somersaulted in his breast.
Jesus!
The sudden vision of those lips closing around his cock in a hard suckle felt so real, his cock jerked and thickened.

“Nik.” He didn’t say anything beyond that. He didn’t need to. Nik had seen the expression on Jay’s face and had stopped toweling the sweat off his massive chest and arms to turn and follow the direction of his gaze. Jay felt Nik’s body stiffen beside him.

“Holy shit.”

Nik had seen beautiful women before. Lots of them. But this one…this one was different. She was a goddess, drop-dead gorgeous, sexy as hell, and built for sin. Heart-pumping, cock-pounding, soul-destroying sin. Sin that couldn’t start soon enough as far as he was concerned. The sudden vision of him slamming her up against the wall and fucking her hard and fast until both of them could no longer remember their names evaporated all the moisture in his mouth, cleaving his tongue to his hard palate.

“Tell me about it,” Jay said, moving to stand beside his partner.

The thought that this woman had stood there and watched the scene they’d just completed hardened both their cocks so fast, their vision blurred.

“Who do you suppose she is?” Nik was the first to find his voice, although it sounded like it had been pulsed in a blender before coming out.

“Well, whoever she is,” Jay murmured, “she seems to be here by herself. I wasn’t aware that Jesse and Adam had invited any unattached subs. They would have told us to keep an extra watchful eye out for them, make sure they were safe.”

“Well,” Nik said philosophically, a wicked grin curving his lips upward. “Only one way to find out.” As one they descended the steps and started to cross the room, staring at her over the heads of the rest of the guests.

The woman’s eyes widened in sudden alarm the minute she realized that they were headed straight toward her. Her gaze faltered and she looked around almost frantically as if trying to find the nearest escape route.

Nik and Jay had only crossed half the distance of the common room when Lucas McKay, Clay “Raven” Nighthorse, and Caleb Rafferty, three other Dungeon Monitors and former SEAL teammates, approached them, laughing, clapping them on the back, congratulating them on finally acknowledging the relationship that everyone else had figured out years ago. By the time their short conversation had ended, the woman was gone.

CHAPTER THREE

Damn it, I
knew
this was a bad idea.
Heart hammering in her ears, Charlotte “Charlie” Fielding slowly entered the enormous common room of Club Risqué. It was packed with people, most of them wearing some sort of fetish gear. Lots of leather, straps, chains, and buckles. For at least the twelfth time, she looked down at her own outfit. Short, red, PVC kilt-like skirt with lots of chains and buckles. Her black tank top was tight. Without her usual bra, her breasts were prominently displayed, her hard nipples poking through the stretchy fabric. Not normal fetish wear, but sexy enough that it would probably pass muster. After all, she wasn’t going to be here long enough for anyone to question her.

It was somewhat of a miracle that she was even here at all. She’d been in such a hurry to get away from Perry before he got back from the hospital that she hadn’t seen the invitation he’d thrown on the bed. Evidently she had scooped it up along with her clothes, and stuffed it into the pillowcase she’d stripped off the bed. She’d been so frantic, she hadn’t even noticed.

Her stomach knotted and she struggled to push the thoughts from her mind. She felt her anxiety level beginning to rise, and with it, her heart rate.

She had met Perry Bradford at a Richmond Munch. He’d been very charming and seemed genuinely interested in Charlie, in her aspirations of becoming a singer, and especially in discovering how much she knew about the world of BDSM. Which hadn’t been much. Charlie had dabbled a bit in the lifestyle with Cam, a previous boyfriend. She had loved it when he’d tied her up and spanked her and filled her with vibrating toys. But Cam wasn’t really a Dom and had finally grown tired of the role playing and left her.

Perry Bradford had been a dream come true, especially for someone like Charlie, who’d grown up in a succession of foster homes and had been living a hand-to-mouth existence ever since aging out of the system. Handsome, sophisticated, with a body carefully sculpted by a rigorous workout routine, Perry Bradford had wined her and dined her for several weeks, taking her to fine restaurants, plays, gallery openings, the opera, and the ballet. She’d loved being seen out and about with him. She’d especially loved being able to wear heels with him. At six feet tall, she’d towered over most of the other boyfriends she’d ever had. With Perry, who was six feet four, she could even wear stilettos and not be taller.

He’d been kind enough not to comment on her less than sophisticated wardrobe, mostly made up of thrift store odds and ends. Or the thrift store bargains decorating her modest little apartment the one time he’d been there. She’d been thrilled that he’d accepted her invitation to dinner. She’d fixed spaghetti and homemade meatballs, using her favorite foster mom’s recipe. Maybe this was the night, she’d kept thinking. The night he would finally have sex with her. Maybe tie her up. Or even spank her. She’d heard that could be a real turn-on. Up to that point he’d been a perfect gentleman, never pushing her past a fairly chaste good-night kiss, always leaving her wanting more.

But that night, after dinner he’d grabbed her, shoved his handkerchief into her mouth, tied her hands behind her back with his tie and bent her forcibly over the dining room table. “You’ve been givin’ off signals all night, slut.” His voice in her ear had been a guttural growl. “Like the two-dollar whore you are. You’ve been beggin’ for this, so I’m gonna give it to you.” Then he’d yanked down her shorts, literally ripped off the sexy new panties she’d spent a week’s worth of tips on, and kicked her feet apart.

“Look at that juicy cunt,” he’d chortled, shoving two fingers roughly through her slit and into her vagina. “Hot and wet and ready for my cock.” She’d heard his belt buckle jangling and the metallic rasp of his zipper. Grabbing her by the hair, he’d jerked her head back, shoving his groin against her ass, sliding his cock through her slit, lubricating himself in her copious cream.

“This is what you want, isn’t it, cunt?” he’d snarled in her ear. “What you’ve been asking for since I walked in the door.”

Charlie had just whimpered. God help her, he’d been right. It
was
what she’d been wanting since he’d walked in the door. Maybe not quite like this, not quite this rough and harsh, but still...

“Say it, cunt. Tell me you want my cock.”

“I-I want your cock.” That, at least, had been the truth.

“Stupid bitch.” He’d slapped her ass. Hard. Forcing a scream from her throat. “Is that how you talk to a Dom? I want your cock,
Master
,”
he’d corrected her, giving her hair such a vicious yank she’d burst into tears.

“I want your cock, Master,” she’d finally managed to sob.

“Louder!”

“I want your cock, Master!”

“Well, of course you do, slut. You’ve been asking for it all night, like the cunt you are. Well, now you’re gonna get it.” He’d entered her roughly, penetrating her in one stroke, with no preparation or foreplay, making her cry out at the painful stretching of her untried muscles. He’d fucked her from behind like a rutting animal, slapping her ass and calling her dirty names the entire time. She’d been so shocked and, inexplicably, so turned on, she’d had three screaming orgasms, one right after the other. As soon as he’d filled her with his seed, he pulled out, quickly putting himself to rights. “Do not move,” he’d said, with another, really hard slap to her right ass cheek. “Or you’ll get a taste of my belt.”

Then he’d just left her there, bound and gagged and struggling to come to terms with what had just happened. Nothing in her admittedly limited experience of BDSM or the D/s lifestyle had prepared her for the sheer coldness and impersonal brutality of this encounter. She’d read so much about the powerful emotional connection between Dom and sub. In fact, that’s what had attracted her to the lifestyle in the first place. That was what her parched soul had been yearning for all her life. But there had been none of that here. Perry Bradford had treated her like a piece of furniture, there for him to use. And use her, he had.

Her ass still stung from his blows, his cum still oozed from her vagina, drying on her thighs and making her skin itch. She’d continued to sob quietly for several long minutes, unable to dry her tears or wipe the snot from her nose.

In the meantime, he went into her living room and spent the next hour conducting business over the phone, ignoring her as if she had become a part of the table she was bent over. When he was finished, he’d turned on the TV and sat watching some show about custom motorcycles. When it was over, he’d untied her, shoving his tie into his pants pocket. Bending low and placing his mouth next to her ear he’d said, “You are never to wear underwear in my presence again.” And he’d left.

Gingerly, she’d managed to stand. Her legs were shaking so bad she’d had to hold onto the walls to get to the bathroom, where she’d spent the next two hours soaking in a hot tub, hurt and confused at his callous, brutal treatment of her. But that hadn’t stopped her from replaying the entire scene over and over in her mind, picking it apart, searching for clues that might explain his behavior. Nor had it stopped her from spending the entire week-end sitting by the phone alternately cursing him and dissolving into tears because he hadn’t called.

Somehow, over the next four days, she’d managed to haul her ass out of bed and go to work, but every minute had dragged and every night she’d cried herself to sleep because he hadn’t called or emailed or done anything to communicate with her. On the fifth day after their dinner “date”, she’d received a hand-delivered box along with a note from
him
telling her he was taking her to The Play Pen, an exclusive BDSM Club in Richmond. His car would come for her at seven o’clock.

The box contained the outfit he ordered her to wear. A French maid’s outfit with a skirt so scandalously short, she might as well not have been wearing anything at all. And black four-inch stiletto heels. No bra. No panties. Scandalized, she’d spread the outfit—what there was of it—out on her thrift store coffee table and just stared at it for the longest time, biting her lip and trying to decide whether to put it on…or throw it in the trash.

When her doorbell rang at seven, she’d opened it with an anticipatory smile, fully prepared to twirl and show him how sexy she looked in the maid’s outfit. Only it hadn’t been Perry Bradford standing there. Instead it was a big, burly black man built like a professional wrestler, wearing the black livery and cap of a chauffeur. He also wore enormous sunglasses.

Perry couldn’t be bothered to fetch her himself. He’d sent a professional driver, who had driven her to a large warehouse in the historic Shockoe Slip area of downtown Richmond. He had led her to a spot just inside the main entrance and instructed her to kneel. She’d wanted to argue, to tell this arrogant prick to go fuck himself. But she had knelt.

“Bow your head. Raise your hands, palms up as if offering me a gift.” When she’d positioned herself the way he’d described, he’d laid a stiff leather dog collar across her hands. “Wait here exactly like this until your Master arrives.”

Her Master! What the fuck?
She’d lifted her head to look at him, but he’d shoved it back down. “If you break position again, not only will you be severely punished, but you will also be given to every man in this club, starting with me. Am I clear? Your only appropriate response is ‘Yes, Sir.’”

She’d bitten her lip, stuffing her resentment down as deep as it could go. “Yes, Sir.”

Perry had kept her waiting, kneeling on that cold, concrete floor, for over thirty minutes. Thirty minutes, by the end of which time her back ached, her shoulders ached, her arms were cramping so badly she’d almost wished they’d fall off. And her knees were on fire with pain.

When he finally did show up, he hadn’t greeted her. He’d simply walked over to her, taken the dog collar from her outstretched hands, hunkered down in front of her, and fastened it around her neck. It was wide and stiff and extremely uncomfortable.

“You are to walk behind me at all times. The instant I stop, you will drop to your knees, head down, hands on your thighs, and remain there until I give you the signal.” Then he’d attached a leash to the D ring on the front and given it a sharp tug. “That is the signal. Come, pet,” was all he said, walking away so fast she’d nearly gone sprawling onto the floor before managing to scramble to her feet and stumble after him into the main room. As soon as they went through the door, the heavy beat of loud, very unpleasant music assaulted her ears.

Once inside, Bradford had basically ignored her, schmoozing with his friends and generally acting as if she were invisible. So she’d taken advantage of the opportunity to look around surreptitiously

When Perry had told her he was taking her to The Play Pen, her curiosity had been aroused. She’d even looked it up on the internet, and had been dying to see it in person. The main common area was like an enormous three-story lobby in a fancy hotel. Except the walls were black, and the carpet on the floor was blood red. Vampires would probably have felt right at home. At least a dozen comfortable seating areas with leather sofas and chairs were scattered throughout the middle of the room, partially screened from one another by modular walls and potted palms. Along the left wall were several public scening rooms, including a schoolroom, a bedroom with an enormous round bed, and what looked like a medical exam room. Second and third-story balconies circled the room, with doors leading into offices, conference rooms, more play rooms, and private suites. Various Play Stations ranged along the right wall, where men and women were tied and chained to all sorts of wooden and steel apparatuses, highlighted by strategically placed spot lights. They were being flogged, whipped, spanked, and fucked until they were screaming with both pain and unimaginable pleasure.

Charlie had quickly discovered that she wasn’t the only one being led around on a leash. There were others as well, both men and women, many completely naked. Some of the male subs and even some Doms wore steel rings around their cocks and balls. Charlie had been enthralled by all the public scenes she’d witnessed that night at the Play Pen

When Perry had told her they were going to his private suite, she had ignored the warning voice in her head trying to remind her of the
last
time she’d been alone with him, and had gone along eagerly. As soon as they entered the room, he had cuffed her to a punishment bench and spanked her for what seemed like hours until her ass was red and fiery hot and stinging as if she’d accidentally sat on a hive of bees. Then he had fucked her from behind, hard and fast, bringing her to several explosive climaxes. It had been the most intense experience of her life.

So, four days later, when he’d invited her to spend a wild, wicked, wonderful week-end with him at his home, she’d leapt at the chance. To her eternal regret. Perry Bradford had turned out to be the Dom from hell, cruel, controlling, sadistic, and vicious, taking pleasure in causing her pain and humiliation.

Feeling the bile begin to rise in the back of her throat, Charlie gave herself a mental shake, forcing the bad memories out of her mind through sheer dint of will. She looked around this new club, Club Risqué, only the second BDSM club she’d ever been to in her life. But definitely the last. After her experience with Perry Bradford, she had decided that this was not the lifestyle for her.

Built to resemble a twelfth century English castle, Club Risqué’s stone walls, with wrought iron, torch-shaped sconces, and stone floors covered with Persian carpets, and a vaulted, ribbed, stone ceiling that looked like a medieval cathedral, should have been intimidating. Even menacing. But it wasn’t. It was oddly…cozy. Except for the music. It had a heavy, driving beat that exacerbated the headache already pounding in Charlie’s head.